She hit me for the first time today.

We were kneeling by the shower floor, bickering about the hairball blocking the drain.

She drew her hand back and I felt the impact.

She hit me for the first time today. Not like a child’s spanking or a playful slap, but a hit derived from anger. She hit me in the jaw, where the tendons and bones are already inflamed from temporomandibular jaw disorder, where, ironically, it hurts the most.

She hit me for the first time today, and for the first time today I felt helpless. For the first time this month I felt deep, feral pain. For the first time this year I felt dirty, useless, ugly, naked. And for the first time in my life I felt as though the world were sinking, falling away, washing away the illusion of stability.

She hit me for the first time today, and I realized that love is a fluid concept. I realized that love manifests itself in many ways, one of which is violence. Abuse is a fluid term, too, yet when you try to diagnose it, what is it that distinguishes a hit from a miss?

She hit me for the first time today, but I know that she loves me.